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ALL OR NOTHING (HATTIE)
If this was another day, it would be perfect weather for lunch.
Onanyother day, I’d eat up the clear blue sky, the hint of summer-fresh breeze, the chance to wear shorts and a tank top for the first time all year. I even shaved my legs for the occasion and picked out my cutest white shorts.
But today is so not the time to kick back and enjoy the good things in life.
I step out of the Uber and stretch my legs, rolling my shoulders as the sun streams down the cobblestone sidewalk.
Girls bounce by in airy sundresses and there’s a pop-up churro stand on the corner. The place must bekillingit because who doesn’t love a churro on a sunny day in Portland?
My stomach growls.
I’m about to have my usual iced caramel macchiato and I don’t need the extra calorie bomb.
Still, on a day like this, where it’s so scenic the universe demands I enjoy something…
I cave and get a small pair of lovely chocolate-filled churros, gobbling one down before tucking the paper bag in my purse.
I’ll save the other for my bestie. Margot has a sweet tooth, and moral support is the reason I’m here.
Our usual meeting place is one of my favorites, an adorable café-bookstore called Book Club. Its old brick storefront with the forest-green paint and the smell of potent coffee and pages instantly makes me smile.
Like I said, any other time, this would be wonderful.
But on this day, I’m taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves as I step inside the cool building, pushing my sunglasses up over my eyes.
While I patiently wait for my order, I pull out my phone again, unable to stay away from the local news.
Leonidas Blackthorn’s death is everywhere.
I think half of Maine is in shock, like people forgot that one of our most wealthy and powerful men was actually mortal. He’s been a local fixture for decades, only second to the historic Head Light itself.
The old lighthouse will live on, of course, but I’m not sure how we’ll manage without the money he poured into the art scene here. That’s what has everybody freaking out the most in local groups.
Nobody loved Maine’s culture and natural beauty like he did, and everybody loved his generosity back.
Me, though?
The gaping hole in the art world isn’t why there’s a lump in my throat. I’m going to miss that man because I knew him.
Our families have been unlikely friends forever, since the day I was paired up with Margot at summer camp.
And while the online chatter writes him off as a charitable old grouch who kept to himself in his older years, I know better.
Old Leo could be hilarious.
His dad jokes were theworst, and he could clear the room with one well-placed grandpa pun.
More than anything, he was kind.
Sure, he was rich, but he never let his colossal fortune go to his head. Plus, he was always nice to everyone around me—whenever our families met up for Christmas or New Year’s, he was the life of the party.
When I’d hang out with Margot, I was family. He’d take whole days away from his business empire to spend time with us.
Big dinners on the beach with seafood alfredo and lobster bakes he’d whip up with his own hands and a little help from his crew of kids. I still don’t understand how his heavenly blueberry cheesecakes were real.
